


Auld Lang Syne

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Father Christmas - Freeform, Geno doesn't play hockey, Geno is adorable, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, sid is awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-02-23 02:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13180368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: When Sidney agreed to visit the PICU at UPMC, he didn't expect to meet Father Christmas.This fic is prompted by theTwelvetide Drabbles 2017





	1. Thy Sweet Heart Now Grown So Cold

**Author's Note:**

> It may be a teeny tiny wee bit longer than a drabble. But if you don't count A, An, and The, it may be 100 words, right?
> 
> Also: this fic will eventually earn its E rating.

Sid hated hospitals.

Hated the stark, white walls and the frigid temperature; it was like the hockey rink, but without any of the warmth and life. Here, he felt dull and sluggish; his legs were heavy as he walked to the reception desk. He pasted on his media smile and tried not to blink as the teenage volunteer took his photo for the visitor’s tag. 

“Thank you, Mr. Crosby,” she said, barely containing her excitement as she handed him the pass. “Tough year with all the injuries, but we’re all behind yinz.”

Sid smiled tightly and nodded a thank you. He especially loathed the hospital when he arrived in his black and gold jersey, the **87** announcing who he was. The camera crew trailed behind him, like he was some goddamn hero. 

All he did was slap pucks around the ice. It was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the kids here who were fighting every day. Some of them for their lives. 

Real life. Not another _game_ or another _series_. But like, to literally see another day.

The hospital’s PR rep met Sid and the camera crew with a bright smile. “Thanks for coming again, Mr. Crosby.” 

She sounded so thankful, so genuinely happy to have him here. Warmth welled up inside his chest—he was the one who was thankful. Because this was the least he could do. If he could, he’d spend hours here on the floor of the play room, building Lego tours and playing Barbies. He’d fund a mini street-hockey rink if they’d let him. 

Instead they were grateful he’d simply shown up.

“Do you have a preference where you’d like to start today?” Rashidi asked, holding her clipboard close to her chest. “Or, if you like, I could—”

“Yes,” Sid nodded “I’m yours til—” He looked over his shoulder at the _Inside Scoop_ camera crew. Michelle held up her pointer fingers. “Eleven. After that, I have personal obligations.” He wanted to add, _on second thought, I can stay all day,_ because really, what did he have to go home to?

A big, empty house. 

No relationship. 

Not even a goldfish.

Sid closed his eyes and curled his hands into fists, making sure his thumb was caught inside. He pushed his nails into the meat of his palm, knowing the pain would pull him out his thoughts. 

Today wasn’t about him. It was about the 36 kids who were in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit on Christmas Eve. 

And when he went home at 11 for lunch, they’d still be there.


	2. From Morning Sun til Dine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid has a sneaking suspicion that _Дед Мороз_ wasn't really a Grandfather.
> 
> Prompt: 
> 
> Candles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't mind the Russian words mixed in. The definitions are pretty clear, I think.

The first step into the PICU was the most frightening. The staccato beeps, piercing wails of the alarms jangled Sidney each time.

But all he could hear were high-pitched giggles followed by deep laughter. 

“Father Christmas is here,” Rashidi said, motioning for Sid and the camera crew to follow her. 

“You’re not Santa,” a boy’s voice echoed up the hall. “You talk funny.”

Sid smiled, waiting for the answer as they walked toward the playroom. 

“Not Santa. _Дед Мороз_ ,” the man corrected, and Sidney was impressed with the kindness in his voice. “Ded Moroz,” he said, slow enough that the children could repeat after him. “It mean Grandfather Frost. From Russia.”

The camera crew filmed from the doorway, obscuring Sidney from the children’s view, but he could peek through. A small, fragile girl with thin hair tugged on _Дед Мороз_ ankle-length red coat. “Then why are you _here?_ ” 

“Because I’m love Penguins, but none where I live.” The man tapped his white staff against the floor. The weak sunlight caught the prism at the top of the intricately carved staff and sent out tiny rainbows for the kids. “I’m hear Penguins in Pittsburgh, so I’m come here. Penguins best.”

The kids, dressed in Pens shirts, cheered. One of the parents shouted, “The Pens _are_ the best!”

“I agree.” Sid parted the camera crew and walked Grandfather Frost—who Sid now suspected wasn’t a grandfather at all. Judging by the clear eyes and the lack of wrinkles or crinkles at the corners (not to mention the dark curls peeking out of the back of the red fur hat, Sid figured this ‘grandfather’ was probably pretty close to his own age. 

“He’s a Penguin,” the little girl said to _Дед Мороз_ as she pointed at Sidney. He looked over, and Grandfather Frost’s mouth fell open. 

“You all know Sidney Crosby, right? Captain of our Penguins!” Rashidi grinned when the children yelled for Sid. “Mr. Crosby, this is _Дед Мороз_. He’s come all the way from Russia to bring gifts to our kids.”

_Дед Мороз_ said nothing, but his eyes were wide above the long white beard. “I’m not have gift for Penguin!” he said to the little girl. “What I’m do?”

The way the man acted—it went beyond pretending to be Santa. Sid had spent years watching people pretend to be kind or respectful, but this guy cared about the kids. The way he talked _to_ them, like they were important. It wasn’t like he was waiting to get out as fast as he could, or like he was just biding time til someone more important came along. With the little girl—he’d crouched down to be closer to her height, which had to be difficult, because he had to be almost as tall as Murry or Dumo. 

Sid watched the exchange but pretended not to listen. He borrowed Rashidi’s black marker and began signing the kids’ shirseys. This was the part he liked best, talking with the kids and signing whatever they handed him. 

“You could sing for him?” she whispered, louder than she’d probably meant to. “Do you know _Frozen?_ ” 

“I’m not good singer,” _Дед Мороз_ said but the little girl waved Sidney over before he could stop her.

“Mr. Crosby, Dead Morosh wants to sing for you!” She looked so earnest, so excited to help, that Sidney couldn’t laugh at her mispronunciation. Besides. He wasn’t sure he could do better. 

“He, uh, doesn’t have to—” Sid apologized with his eyes. The man smiled back, his eyes a warm brown over the white of the long beard. 

“He does! He doesn’t have anything for you.” Her curls hung limp at her shoulder, and when she turned, Sid saw the port access taped to her chest. Her mother came over, whispering something in her ear, but the girl shook her head. This girl. She was a fighter. And Sid knew that _Дед Мороз_ would have to sing. She wouldn’t let him off the hook. 

When Rashidi moved Sid and the crew to the back of the room and shut the cameras down, Sid leaned against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched. He could imagine this man in a cabin in the woods, surrounded by candles as he made a list and checked it twice.

“If you stand here and be my _Снегурочка,_ we give gifts then sing.” Grandfather Frost arranged his red sack filled with presents. “At home, I’m still sleep on your Christmas Eve. For Russian children, New Year’s Eve is most important.” 

He handed out his gifts, talking to each child, posing for photos, offering hugs. In between, he told stories about Russian holiday traditions and about his granddaughter _Снегурочка,_ Snegurochka the Snow Maiden with her blonde curls. 

When it was Sidney’s turn, Grandfather Frost on a child-sized chair and talked to whichever kids weren’t interested in hockey. Sid sneaked a look over at that corner. He was pretty sure there were more kids there than with him.

Quicker than Sid expected, Rashidi motioned that their time was up. The other man stood up slowly, unkinking his long legs. “If you want learn more about my country, come to museum downtown. Man there very nice, know lots of good stories.”

He picked up his empty sack and started for the doorway, but the kids yelled for him to stop. “You’ve forgotten something, _Дед Мороз_ ,” Sid said with a mischievous grin. 

“You didn’t sing!” the little girl said, laughing at him. 

“My voice like that,” _Дед Мороз_ said, as someone’s IV pump screeched its alarm. 

Sid laughed. “It can’t be _that_ bad.”

_Дед Мороз_ convinced the girl to sing with him, joining her once she’d begun.

 

_The snow glows white on the mountain tonight, not a footprint to be seen…_

 

They sang only a little before Rashidi stopped them. Lunch trays would be coming soon, and the kids needed return to their rooms. The man looked relieved to be excused from singing, but Sid didn’t know why. His voice was a beautiful tenor, unsure of the English words but not the notes. 

Sid wished he knew more about this guy who was willing to give up his Christmas Eve to be at the hospital instead of with friends. Wanted to know more.

The kids waved good-bye to _Дед Мороз,_ who responded in Russian. Sid had heard the phrase on New Year’s Eves in the past from Russian teammates. _С Наступающим (Новым Годом)._ Happy soon coming (New Year).

Then Sid remembered that his teammates had also said if you make a wish at midnight on New Year’s Eve, it would come true. Sid dropped his Penguins Santa hat on the little girl’s head and headed out after the man. 

Maybe a Christmas Eve wish would work as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like every fic writer, I LOVE research. Several websites have been incredible resources:
> 
> [Ded Moroz](https://russiapedia.rt.com/of-russian-origin/ded-moroz/)   
>  [Russian Traditions](https://www.tripsavvy.com/russia-christmas-traditions-1502306)   
>  [Russian New Year](http://www.funrussian.com/2011/12/30/russian-new-year/)


	3. Take a Cup o' Kindness Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid's worried that G didn't wait...and why does he care?
> 
> Today's prompt: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the comments.  
> My apologies to Flyers fans. lol

“Hey, excuse me, uh—” Sid called up the hall to catch up with the man, whose long legs were quickly creating distance between them. _“Дед Мороз!”_ Sid hoped to stop him. If not from the words, then maybe from Sid’s pronunciation; it was worse than his Québécois, and that was pretty bad.

The other man stopped and turned toward Sid. He looked elegant, aristocratic in the long, embroidered coat that emphasized his height. But Sidney only saw how compassionate he’d been.

The man waved awkwardly, as if he thought Sid had meant someone else. 

Sid jogged up to catch up with him. “Just wanted to say sorry about in there.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder toward the playroom and smiled. 

“Is okay,” the man said. His thin, wan smile of apology showed through the beard that Sid assumed was glued on. “Sorry my voice so bad.”

“It really wasn’t.” Sid extended his hand. “I’m Sidney Crosby. Sid. I’m guessing Grandfather Frost isn’t your real name.” _Great. Greaaat._ In his head, Sid rolled his eyes at the horrible line. 

“Evgeni. But call me Geno. Easier for you to say,” Geno said, his voice serious, but Sid noticed the tip of his tongue sticking out between his lips. 

He took Sid’s hand, and even in the soft red mittens, Sid could tell that Geno’s hand was strong.

“Can I buy you a coffee to say thanks for being so understanding?” Sid asked, his hand still engulfed in Geno’s. “I know it’s Christmas Eve—maybe you have some place to be…” His voice trailed off, nervous that Geno would think it was a date. Nervous that he wouldn’t think it was a date. 

Geno laughed as he released Sid’s grasp. “Remember I’m say December 25 not big in Russia. Дед Мороз not come until New Year’s.”

Sidney looked embarrassed that he hadn’t remembered, but Geno continued, “Is good. We go for coffee, and I’m teach you all about Russian holiday. But—” Geno swept his hand down his costume, “I’m think you prefer I change first.” 

Sid’s laugh echoed down the hospital hallway, and several nurses at the central work station stared. “Hey, I wouldn’t mind if they noticed you instead of me!” 

They agreed to meet in the hospital foyer. “Look for handsome man with red suitcase,” Geno said as they parted. He headed for the bank of elevators while Sid returned to the camera crew and to say good-bye to the children. 

With a promise to Rashidi to return for longer, Sid hit the staircase. He’d spent longer than he’d meant to, wrapping up details of the visit with the _Inside Scoop_ crew. His chest felt tight as he took the three flights to the main floor; if he’d taken too long and Geno had left—

_Jesus, it’s not some fucking love connection, like a stupid tv show. We’re just two guys having coffee. If he’s gone, it’s whatever._

But it felt like more to him. The deep brown eyes, the big hands that felt like they could pin him against a wall, grab his ass and hold him up. Fuck, just tick every kink box, including _make me laugh_. This guy was almost too perfect. 

Sid hit the first floor without breaking a sweat and looked around. 

A tall man stood just inside the hospital doorway. He wore skinny jeans on mile-long legs, a leather jacket over broad shoulders. And those hands. Sid was right. They dwarfed the phone Geno held in his palm. 

Sid ducked back into the stairwell and stripped off his jersey then folded it as tightly as he could. He stuffed it inside his coat he’d thrown over his arm, and with a deep breath and a quick exhale, he opened the door. 

“Hey.” Sid walked across the foyer, dodging parents and visitors. His crooked smile turned into a full-blown grin when Geno looked up. “Thanks for waiting. I got caught up with the camera guys.”

Geno smiled broadly. “No problem. I’m know a good coffee shop that serves best tea. But too far to walk.” When Sid began to speak, Geno cut him off. “No, I’m drive, then bring you back here.”

The decision felt final to Sid, so he gave in. 

He never gave in. Why had he given in? He didn’t even know this guy. He could be a mass murder, or worse. _A Flyers fan._

Sid shivered, but pretended it was from the cold as they walked to the parking deck. He could use a cup of coffee to steady his nerves.


	4. Surely You'll Buy Your Pint Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid takes Geno for coffee and realizes how much Geno matters already.
> 
> I meant to add that this is unbeta'd. Please forgive me for any typos and factual 412 issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for this prompt: and 
> 
> unexpected travel (and poor Sid) and Quiet, Solitude (something there won't be when Sid is with Geno, unless G is driving)

They were the longest six minutes of Sidney’s life. 

He could have walked in the middle of Penn Avenue at rush hour and felt safer than he did with Geno’s driving. Bad enough that he felt wedged into the sportscar (and he had no idea how Geno folded himself into it each day), but the man drove like the 35mph speed limit was a suggestion.

Sid didn’t look. Couldn’t look, because his eyes were squeezed shut, but he suspected Geno was driving closer to double the 35. But the ~~best~~ worst part was that he’d have to go from 70 to zero for lights. Or traffic.

And through all of this, Geno kept up a cheerful, steady commentary on people he saw or buildings they passed. 

Somehow Geno found a parking spot in front of the deli, and Sid unclenched his hand from the door handle and cracked open an eye to reassure himself they were safe. 

“Best deli in Pittsburgh,” Geno said as he maneuvered himself out of the car. Sid didn’t stare even one moment or two at Geno’s ass when he bent over to uncrimp himself. 

“That was some ride.” Sid peeled himself off the seat back and slid out of the car. “Yeah.”

Geno hooked his sunglasses over the neck of his jacket. “Sorry took so long. Usually I’m get here faster.” He nodded seriously as he looked at his watch. “Lunch traffic. Makes sense.”

Sid cringed at the image of Geno driving _faster,_ until Geno burst out in laughter. He led Sidney into the deli and greeted the woman behind the counter. “счастливого Рождества!”

“Merry Christmas to you, Zhenya!” When Geno leaned over the counter to peck her cheek, she blushed and said, “Your regular?”

“And a coffee for my friend.” Geno looked at Sid and smiled. 

Was it possible to crave something, when you’d only known it for an hour? Because Geno’s smile was like crack. The more of them Sid got, the more he wanted. Geno offered them so easily, and Sid needed each one. 

Geno led Sid to a booth at the back of the restaurant. “I’m come for breakfast each day. They save this seat for me.” 

Sid’s coffee was black and delicious, but, Geno’s mug smelled faintly like campfire smoke. He watched Geno stir a spoonful of thick jam into his mug of tea, and the aroma changed. It smelled complex and rich, like the first bite of warm summer cherries. 

“That’s—I’ve never—” Sid finally said, knowing he was staring. 

“Try it.” Geno pushed his mug toward Sid as if he knew Sid would love it.

Sid did. He didn’t want to go back to his black coffee. If sugar and cream were not on his food plan, thick white cherry jam probably wasn’t either. 

“You like Pittsburgh?” Geno asked, when Sid finally slid the mug back. 

Sid groaned internally. Here it comes. All the Pens questions, like always. _What’s Letang like? Is Flower really that funny? What about—_

Sid plastered on his media face. “Yeah, I was really glad to be drafted by them,” he said, keeping his answer bland and neutral.

Geno tilted his head and kind of frowned. “I’m not ask right. What you like best about Pittsburgh? I’m like to see Roberto Clemente museum. And Warhol museum. His art is weird but I’m like to go make things there.”

_Oh. Oh!_ “I really like the zoo, especially, well, the penguin exhibit.” Sid felt the blush rise up his neck, felt the warmth on his cheeks. “I guess it’s stupid.”

“Penguins best! I’m already say!” Geno crowed. “Next time we go there. Get hot chocolate and talk to penguins.”

_Next time_ hung in the air. Sid sipped his coffee, trying to hold back his smile. “That sounds great.” And maybe promising.

By the time he’d finished his second cup, Sid knew about Geno’s family in Russia. That he’d come to the US to play hockey at a college in Minnesota, but he’d blown out his knee and his scholarship. 

“I’m stay here because have dog, cat and girlfriend. Girlfriend left. I kept dog and cat, though.” 

_Girlfriend. Fuck._ The coffee tasted rancid in Sid’s stomach, swirled and rose uncomfortably. Maybe the creamer was bad. What if Geno brought him to a place where they serve bad cream and gave people food poisoning on Christmas Eve?

Geno leaned across the small table toward Sid. “Too much coffee? You maybe want tea?”

“No. Yes. I mean, I don’t want anything,” Sid said, crumpling his paper napkin. He wanted not to be here. Wanted Geno not to be straight. Wanted not to be so disappointed that his stomach roiled.

Geno leaned closer and moved Sid’s mug away. “Sure?” He whispered. “Last boyfriend couldn’t drink coffee much. It make him sick.”

“Boyfriend?” Sid said, louder than he’d intended. His stomach lurched and for a moment, Sid felt sorry for what he was putting it through.

“Yes. Is OK? Pittsburgh is understanding more than Russia about bisexual. I’m not always remember not everyone is.” Geno’s smile disappeared as he clenched his jaw. 

Sid panicked when he saw Geno reach for his wallet that was still laying on the table. He didn’t want Geno to leave and he definitely didn’t want him to think he was some homophobic asshole. “No! It’s all good. It’s fine. Really. I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’m glad.”

Geno frowned like he didn’t quite believe Sid, and Sid didn’t blame him. He was blushing like a teenager, and babbling like a fool. To shut himself up, Sid drained the dregs of his coffee. “Would you like another?” Sid’s voice cracked, and before Geno could answer, Sid grabbed the two mugs and took them to the counter. 

As he waited for their refills, he sneaked a look over his shoulder. Geno didn’t look like he was leaving, but his easy smile was gone, replaced by pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. He was looking at his phone. 

Sid sighed. He’d handled that badly and had to fix it. Maybe—

“They said you don’t care much for dessert, but everyone loves cheesecake.” Sid carried the two mugs in his left hand and a plate and two forks in his right. Geno watched him struggle, figuring out how to get everything to the table without spilling anything. 

“Your hands are big,” was all Geno said. And the smile reappeared. 

Sid breathed in sharply, not knowing what Geno meant about his hands. It could have been absolutely innocent. But when Sid saw Geno’s hands, with his long fingers and wide palms, not one of his thoughts had been innocent. 

They’d been filthy, images of Geno dragging them over Sid’s body, grabbing his ass, wrapping around his cock. And it was only his years of media training, of keeping himself in check, that kept him from embarrassing himself. 

Actually, _this_ wasn’t helping at all. His cock was beginning to swell, and that wasn’t something he wanted Geno to see, at least not yet. Sid sat down before setting the mugs and plate onto the table. “You could have helped me,” Sid chirped when he finally distributed everything. 

“More fun watching,” Geno laughed, slicing a bite of cheesecake with his fork. “This not on your food plan, like tea and creamer and sugar?”

Sid’s laughter rang out over the Christmas muzak; both seemed loud in the mostly empty restaurant. Several patrons looked over, but didn’t seem to realize who Sid was, or no one approached him for his autograph.

Sid felt happier sitting in this non-descript deli with its framed photos of local celebrities on the wall and squeeze ketchup bottles than he had at any of the team’s top dollar steakhouse dinners. He liked Geno, wanted to let him know that he was _interested,_ which would have been much easier if he weren’t Sidney Crosby™.

Instead, Sid told Geno about his family. Not that it was news. If Geno googled him, he’d find all of this from third party sources. But it was the first time _Sid_ had talked about his father who didn’t make it to the NHL and who had Sid on skates before he was 2 so that Sid would make it. About his mother who gave up everything to drive him to hockey. And about his sister who was trying to make her own way as a goalie. He talked about his guilt for taking so much of their time and more money than they had, and that no matter what he gave them, he felt like it was never enough. Especially for Taylor, who was saddled with the name Crosby.

“People expect too much from her because of it. She takes so much shit.” Sid grabbed his balled up napkin and began shredding it, until it looked like snowflakes on the table. “I hate that for her.” 

Geno put his hand over Sid’s. “I’m know she is proud to be your sister. You’re good big brother.”

Geno’s hand was warm and light on his, comfortable but not smothering. 

Before Sid had time to process any of that, the woman from the counter came to their table. “Sorry, guys. We’re closing early because it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Nancy, you say you close at 3. Why you tell us now?” Geno slid his hand off Sid’s as quickly as he could without making it obvious, and Sid was surprised he would realize it would’ve been awkward.

“G, it’s 3. I gotta go home and start the 7 fishes, or Tony is gonna have a fit. You guys gotta wrap this up.” Nancy cleared their plates and walked off, muttering about _customers sitting for four hours and complaining when they had to go._

Sid checked his phone. It was 3:05 and they _had_ talked for hours. And Tanger had texted him a dozen times about their party that night, and Alexander, and Père Noel. He’d forgotten all about the wine for the party and the gift for Alex.

Geno stood, stretching his legs. He reached for his wallet, but Sidney stopped him. “I invited you, so I’m paying.” 

Geno started to argue, but Sid stopped him. “Next time, you get it.”

_Next time._

Sid pulled a bill out of his wallet and handed it with the check to Nancy. “Merry Christmas, and thank you.” Sid left before she realized he’d given her $50 for a $10 order.

Geno walked out after Sid and unlocked the car. “Wish I had seat heater. My ass is cold!” At least the snow had held off.

During the six-minute drive back to the hospital’s parking deck, Sid debated with himself when he wasn’t praying for his life. Once they were safely stopped by Sid’s car, he said, “I’m invited to a friend’s party tonight. Some of the guys’ families, good food. Beer. You wouldn’t want to come, would you? I’m gonna be Santa.”

He was rambling again. What the hell kind of invite was that? _You wouldn’t want to come?_ He felt like he could barely get the words out without stumbling over them.

Geno’s shoulders fell, and he frowned. “I’m already go to dinner at friend’s. Polish food, too many kids.”

Sid felt disappointed, more than he had a right to. “Yeah, I get it. I guess I’ll—” 

Geno held out his hand, palm up. “Gimme phone.” He wiggled his fingers as he waited for Sid to drop his phone into Geno’s palm. One he had the phone, Geno pecked out something. “My number. I’m sad I’m miss you as Santa. You send me pictures so I’m laugh.”

“Get the fuck out,” Sid said, snatching his phone from Geno’s hand. “I’m not sending you pictures of me.” 

“C’mon, Sid. I’m not show anyone,” Geno laughed, but Sid suspected that Geno was saying more. _I won’t tell anyone about you, about your family, about your friends. That you’re gay._

Sid rolled his eyes as he shoved his phone into his coat pocket. “Whatever. Maybe I’ll send them.”

“I’m lie,” Geno grinned. “I’m show dog and cat.” 

Geno laughed as Sid slammed the car door. Geno revved the engine and left the parking garage and Sid. The piped-in Christmas music was infectious, and Sid sang along off-key to “Last Christmas” as he walked back to his SUV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE forgive any egregious geography errors. They're all mine. Smallman Street Deli looks like a great place. It looks like it's a straight shot down Penn to get to Smallman. The internet said the speed limit is 35?!


	5. Never Brought to Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid's at Tanger's with the Dupuis for the annual family Christmas Eve get together. Sid wants to trust Geno, wants to tell him, but _can_ he trust G?
> 
> Today's two prompts:  
>  a snowstorm and
> 
> falling asleep somewhere unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *unbeta'd* waving my hand over Quebecois Christmas Eve traditions and also the weather in 412 on Christmas Eve this year, where it rained.

Playing Santa. 

The fate of every unmarried male at Christmas.

Sid stared at himself in the mirror and adjusted the white beard so the mustache wouldn’t droop over his top lip. He pushed the pillow up higher, so it looked more like a jolly belly and less like, well, like he had a pillow shoved under a big red furry coat. 

But he loved it. Loved seeing the awe on the kids’ faces, the tentative way they approached him. Even loved how the older kids, who’d likely realized that Sid had disappeared from the party just before Santa arrived, struggled with keeping the secret.

Sid snapped a selfie in the mirror of Tanger’s bathroom and wrestled with the decision to send the picture to Geno. He pecked out _The beard itches!_ and sent it before he could stop himself. Because that was why Geno gave Sid his number. 

Immediately, three dots appeared. “Cat and dog laugh, but I’m tell them not.”

Then, “Is a good look on you, Sid. But too early for playoff beard.”

Sid laughed out loud, feeling relieved that Geno had answered. He’d thought—worried—that maybe, Geno was just being nice when he gave Sid his number. Like, maybe, it had been a formality, something people _do._ But Geno sounded happy he’d texted.

Sid wanted to send Geno a picture of him flipping Geno off. But, God forbid that got out—Sidney Crosby as Santa shooting a middle finger at the mirror. He’d be vilified for soiling the mythology of Santa, for humiliating the Penguins organization, and for ruining children forever. 

“Was that footsteps on the roof? I think it’s Père Nöel!” Catherine Letang said, loud enough for Sid to hear.

Sid took a picture of just his hand, flipping Geno off, and hit send before ho-ho-ho’ing his way into the party. Alex Letang stood hand in hand with Lola Dupuis watching Père Nöel. Their eyes were wide eyes, and Lola squeaked when Sid said hello to her. If Alex hadn’t held her hand in a vice grip, Sid thought she probably would have run to her parents and hidden behind Duper’s legs.

“Have you been good this year, Alexander?” Sid asked, hoping his deeper, merrier voice sounded like Santa. “And you, Lola?” 

Neither child answered; they stood like statues, grasping each other’s hands. 

“I have something for you in my bag!” He dug around in his red sack, feeling for the heft of the actual gifts among empty boxes Catherine had wrapped and shoved in the bag. Geno had made it look effortless earlier. Right now, Sid wanted to ditch all of this and text Geno, tell him that. Tell him everything. Each detail of the party. Better yet, he wanted to drive back into the city and bring him back here. He felt giddy with the thought, like he could burst out laughing, but that would _not_ be a good look for Santa. 

When Alex and Lola had finally spoken to Père Nöel, when the other Dupuis children had received their gifts, Sidney bid them all a “Merrrrrrrry Christmas!” and disappeared into the foyer. He slammed the front door and immediately headed to the bathroom to change.

Sid was hot and sweaty, his hair matted to his head. He snapped a mirror picture decided that the UnderArmour shirt, plastered to his chest, was a good touch. His arms and shoulders were defined, and the shirt clung in the right spots. He sent it to Geno and added “Success!”

“How is your party?” Geno responded, faster than Sid had expected. 

“It’s okay. A friend moved away this year, and he and his wife and kids would’ve been here. I really miss him. What about you?”

“Loud. Many kids. But is good. Kids have fun.”

“Things like this, with families, makes me realize how much I really want a relationship and kids.” Sid balanced his phone on the edge of the sink and stripped out of the sweaty layer and put his regular clothes back on. He ran his fingers through his hair, then thrust the Santa suit back into its bag in the linen closet. 

Sid checked his phone, but Geno hadn’t responded. _Shit._ Maybe he’d revealed too much. In his experience, the few times he’d tried to open up, people got weird. He’d probably frightened Geno away. 

Sid shoved his phone in his pocket, angry with himself for forgetting, and went off in search of Carole-Lyne and Catherine. They’d know more about how Flower and Vero and the girls were doing in Vegas. Sid hated that they weren’t in Pittsburgh any more, and maybe that was part of his anger. Missing them tonight felt like as bad as being away from Cole Harbour at Christmas. 

Sid’s phone chimed and he ducked into an empty corner of the living room. “Sorry so long to answer. kids want to Christmas singing house to house. But.too cold!”

_They’d gone caroling._

The next message popped up quickly. “We go to one house then back inside to unfreeze.”

Sid was deciding what to type when the three dots popped up again. He leaned against the wall and felt the worry drain from his shoulders. Geno hadn’t been weirded out, just freezing. 

“Family are best, Sid. Want to have many kids. Adopt, surrogate, don’t matter. First meet a right person. Man woman. Either.”

To Sid, Geno felt like an old soul, someone he had known for years with their own shorthanded language. Someone he didn’t need to guard himself. Could be _Sidney_ with, some guy from Canada who guy who loved the lake, wore too-long sleep pants (that he’d swiped from a road roomie at some point) and t-shirts from Shattuck (which were fraying at the seams and too small) when he was home. He thought Geno wouldn’t laugh when Sid talked about World War II, that he would ask Sidney questions, instead. 

He couldn’t explain why, but he felt like he could trust Geno implicitly. And he’d never felt that with any of the other men he’d dated—if you could call a few booty calls dating.

“I like that,” was all Sid could respond here in Tanger’s house with so many people around. He knew these guys. They’d steal his phone in a heartbeat and text Geno kissy emoji faces. 

“You are very busy in this corner, Sidney.” Catherine had snuck up on him, carrying a mostly asleep Alex on her shoulder. “Who are you texting?” 

Catherine tried to peek, but Sid put his phone in his pocket. 

“Someone I met today.”

“You should have brought him. Does he know you’re interested in him?” Catherine asked, swaying to lull Alex who’d begun to wake. 

“It’s complicated—” Sid began.

“No, Sidney. It’s not. I haven’t seen you this excited about texting someone—ever. If you think he’s good enough for you, trust him.” Catherine cupped his chin with her free hand. “You deserve the things you want.”

Sid smiled. Maybe she was right. 

“Our party is breaking up. I’m heading home. Will you be awake for a while?” Sid typed slowly. He said his good-byes, promising Duper and Carole-Lyne that he’d babysit soon so they could have a date night.

He left with a ziplock baggie of Christmas cookies and resisted opening it until he got to the car. With a cookie in one hand, Sid checked his texts while the car heated up. 

“Am—what that word? Night owl )))” followed by “))) Russian for :)”

Sid sent him a series of )))) and drove home. 

Sidney put on his too-long sleep pants and his too-small shirt and allowed himself two cookies and a cup of hot cocoa. He settled on the couch, pulled a blanket over him and texted Geno. About the snow falling, small and fierce. About the Christmas carols that were playing softly from the radio in the family room. About his tree, with the twinkling white lights that mimicked the snow out his window. 

About his first real relationship, at Shattuck with Jack and his broken heart. 

“I’m not know, Sid. I’m ((( about Jack.”

Then

“I’m not tell secret. No one’s business but yours and mine.”

Sid fell asleep on the couch, his hand curled around his phone, with _yours and mine_ woven through each dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, these are the Letangs. I know. it's not fair. 
> 
> These are the Dupuis: Duper had to stop playing because of blood clots. 
> 
> And Flower, our beautiful Flower, was drafted to Vegas this summer. There's a penguin at the zoo named after him:  
> 


	6. Give Me a Hand o' Thine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas morning, and the Russian Heritage Museum sounds like a great place to be. 
> 
> This prompt was Cats are nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heck yeah, Geoffrey and Dixie are real. Or were real. Poor Dixie passed a few years ago.
> 
> (with a bonus shirtless Geno)
> 
> and
> 
>  
> 
> also, I'm sorry for the delay. My children kindly and lovingly shared their nasty colds with me.

Sid woke slowly, the sun pooling on the floor in front of the couch and Bing Crosby crooning about a white Christmas. He stretched and enjoyed the rare slow start to the morning. He was warm under the afghan, but the aroma of fresh brewed coffee was attempting to lure him to the kitchen. In a little bit, he’d get up and check last night’s snowfall, pour a cup of coffee, and call Taylor to wish her Merry Christmas. 

Then, he remembered.

He’d told Geno about Jack and him at Shattuck. About their first times, their fumbling. How he’d hoped that he and Jack would be together. He tensed and held his breath, waiting for the panic’s adrenaline surge. 

But the panic didn’t come. He didn’t regret it. Yeah, there were probably a dozen reasons he’d been a stupid ass to trust Geno with information that could ruin his career.

Instead, he felt excited, like maybe, he could ask Geno to dinner. And just maybe, Geno would say yes. 

Sid grinned and wiggled his bare toes, catching the blanket fringe between them. He couldn’t ignore the coffee any longer, and if he squinted really hard, Catherine’s almond butter cookies, could be broken down into a necessary fat and carb pairing for breakfast. 

His phone dinged faintly, and when Sid couldn’t find it easily, he had to give in. He stood and wrapped the afghan around his shoulders before he began pulling the couch cushions off. Pizza napkins, energy bar wrappers. He found the phone wedged into a tiny crevice between the arm and the back of the chair. 

“Plans today, Sid? Museum opens 11”

He had a standing invitation with Mario and Nathalie and the kids, but their Christmas dinner was late afternoon. He could see Geno for a little and still have dinner with them. And if he didn’t make it back in time, they’d be good with it. 

With a bubble of excitement caroming around in his chest, Sid texted Geno. “What’s the address?” By the time he took a shower and cleaned the snow from his car, the museum would be open. And he would see Geno. The bubble moved faster, like a puck around the curve of the boards. 

 

~*~

With a thermos of coffee and the bag of cookies, Sid headed to the city. The roads were relatively clear, and as he neared the address, Sid recognized a few of the buildings from the harrowing ride with Geno the day before. At least, he thought so, since his eyes had been squeezed shut most of the drive.  
The Russian Heritage Museum was tucked away into a small retail strip; constructed from brick and with large plate glass windows, they’d probably been there since the ‘20s, long before supermarkets and big box stores. Although the Russian Heritage Museum was located directly behind the Heinz History Center, it couldn’t have been further in design.

“Look for green brick,” Geno had texted, and it was easier for Sid to spot the green façade than the address. In truth, with three floors of apartments above, the taxpayer building was the least museum-like museum Sid had ever seen. But it was charming and inviting, with the glass block catching the sun’s weak rays. Sid parked the Tahoe and picked his way across the icy snow bank at the curb, careful not to slip on the icy sidewalk. 

The door to the museum was painted green to match the brick with a full-light panel. Gold lettering on the glass said

**Welcome to the Russian Heritage Museum, Evgeni Malkin, Curator**

Below were Russian words that Sid assumed said the same thing. 

He opened the door and heard the loud gallop of a pony-sized dog rushing at him. Sid braced himself for a face full of French Mastiff, but Geno called the dog off.

“Geoffrey! Sit!”

Immediately, Geoffrey sat, panting and drooling, his tail wagging. To Sid, it looked like it took every ounce of the dog’s training to stay. Sid reached his hand out to Geoffrey, who sniffed it and wagged his tail harder. 

Slowly, more demurely, a black and grey tabby sauntered in to the room, sat behind Geoffrey and stared Sid down, as if she were Geoffrey’s body guard. 

Geno scooped up the cat and cradled her. “Sid, this is Dixie. She protect us. Think we too dumb to be safe.” He rubbed noses with her, and then gently placed her back on the floor. She looked over her shoulder at Sid and then strolled away, dismissing him. 

Geoffrey lost interest in Sid and galloped out of the room after her. 

Sid pretended to watch Geoffrey and Dixie leave, but he was actually staring at Geno. Holy shit. He’d looked great in jeans, but Geno in dress pants and a fitted shirt was a new level of fucking fire. 

“Welcome to Russian Heritage Museum!” Geno said with a brilliant smile, helping Sid out of his winter jacket. Geno hung it on the coat rack by the door. “So glad you make it!” He grasped Sid’s arms and kissed both of his cheeks.

Sid liked the easy contact, the warm strength of Geno’s hands on his shoulders. _Oh!_ He had a flicker of one of last night’s dreams— _Geno’s hands on Sid’s bare chest, sliding down his abdomen to the waist of his sweatpants, already riding low on his hips. In the dream, Sid had held his breath as Geno pressed his lips to his hipbones, traced the ridge of them with his tongue. When he’d breathed again, it was a shallow moan as he’d dragged his fingers through Geno’s hair._

“Ok, Sid? Your face is red.” Geno stepped back to assess Sid, who was afraid that his jeans weren’t going to hide the growing bulge.

Sid pushed past Geno, avoiding his question, and stepped further into the room. It was less of a _museum_ and more like an apartment. The main room looked like someone’s living room from the 1950s, with overstuffed arm chairs, a boxy, black and white television, and apple green walls. It kind of looked like his grandmother’s house when Sid was growing up. 

“Tell me about your museum.” It was the best Sid could do to change the subject, given that he could still feel dream-Geno’s mouth stretching around the head of his cock. 

He turned to Geno, who was watching him like he was trying to read Sid’s thoughts. “This isn’t like any museum I’ve ever been in,” Sid said, sitting in one of the comfortable chairs.

It was the lead in that Geno had been waiting for. It was his passion, he explained. He wanted Americans to understand Russians and not fear them, because they were the same. They loved their families, wanted a good life for their children. “And hockey,” Geno added. “Super League better than NHL.”

Sid snorted in disgust until he realized Geno was teasing him. “Right. The KHL is where NHL’ers go to retire.”

Geno belly laughed, which made Sid smile. 

“Each room here is different Russian history,” Geno explained. “This is Cold War room.” Nikita Khrushchev spoke to them from the television, one of his New Year’s speeches. Revolution room back there. Also have kitchen and bedrooms.”

Sid walked across the room—careful to avoid stepping on the face of Stalin on the rug—and peered through the doorway at the back of the Cold War room. The Revolution room featured portraits of Stalin and Lenin staring down at the visitors. Military uniform hats were strewn on the coffee table, which also held newspapers from that era. “Imperial room is coming along, but slow. Need more money; Fabergé eggs expensive.”

The front door bells jangled, and Geno greeted his new patrons in Russian. Sid returned to the couch and looked at the Christmas tree. Garlands of beads had been strung around the tree, and silver tinsel had been tossed at it, also. The ornaments were delicate; some looked like glass or paper mache, but they were all really old. He recognized several _Ded Moros_ ornaments wearing either the red like Geno had or ice blue.

“ _Yolka_ is my favorite part of holidays,” Geno said, nodding his head toward the tree. “Is New Year’s _yolka_ in Russia, not Christmas. Left over from when government banned religion, so we celebrate coming year instead.”

“The ornaments are beautiful,” Sid said, looking at the eclectic combination. A spun-glass hammer and sickle caught the steady light from the strings of antique colored ceramic light bulbs. 

“Some belong to my grandparents. Some donated in memory of immigrants who came here years ago.” Geno poured two cups of hot water from an electric samovar on the sideboard near the tree. He added tea and jam and handed a cup to Sid. 

In between guests who came in and out of the museum, many of whom were obviously frequent visitors, Geno sat with Sid, entertaining him with stories from his family’s history in Magnitogorsk. How he wrangled the furniture from immigrants for the greater good of the museum. And the one time he may have tried to fill his suitcase with back copies of his mother’s magazines. 

“She yell so loud. I try to say it’s for Pittsburgh people. She still mad and hit me with magazine til I empty suitcase.”

Geno was laughing as he acted out the scene, rolling up one of the newspapers and swatting Sid with it. Geno wiped the corners of his eyes. “She mean to me, Sid. You see when she and Papa come in February.”

Geno was still laughing as he unrolled the newspaper and flattened it on the table, but Sid couldn’t breathe. _You’ll see._ Did Geno mean that? Like, maybe they might—could--? Sid felt like a balloon was growing, growing in his chest, taking up too much room and he didn’t even care if it exploded, because the feelings would just be sharper, more intense. 

Sid leaned forward and covered Geno’s hand with his. “I know you don’t celebrate Christmas, but I’m invited to a dinner tonight and would you want to come with me?” The words came out in a rush, one sliding into the next, almost as if he didn’t say it all at once, he’d never ask.

Geno looked down at Sid’s hand, still covering his, and turned his palm upward. Geno’s hand was soft and warm against his and it felt comfortable, both familiar and breathtaking.

“You sure? I’m not know about accepting…” Geno asked quietly, his thumb brushing against Sid’s hand. “Not want to out you.”

Geno’s first concern was for Sid. God, Sid wanted to kiss him right now. Among other things. “This is—They aren’t—” Sid laughed and tried to settle his excitement so he could speak. “My friends won’t care. Dinner’s at 6. After, we usually play hockey in the backyard, if you have skates.”

Geno slid his hand out from under Sid’s and with his fingertip, caressed Sid’s cheek. He leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing Sid’s. “I’m love to,” Geno whispered, and Sid’s pulse raced as he felt Geno’s breath against his lips. 

_Kiss me,_ Sid thought as he closed his eyes, the two of them suspended in time, forgetting who he was and where they were. The air around them shimmered with the possibility of what they could be together. 

The strand of bells on the museum’s front door jangled, breaking the mood. Sid jumped back, settling as far from Geno as he could on the small couch. His heart pounded in his chest at almost being caught, but when he looked at Geno, with a blush rising up his neck to his cheeks and his bottom lip caught between his teeth, Sid thought it almost might have been worth getting caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there were a Russian Heritage Museum in Pittsburgh, it would look like this (exterior)
> 
> and this [interior](http://loveisspeed.blogspot.com/2013/07/some-people-dare-in-architecture-of.html)


	7. There's a Hand My Trusty Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidney has introduced Geno to his best friends in Pittsburgh: the Lemieuxes on Christmas Eve. And since he lives just around the corner, will he invite G home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. The kids have been a mess. I promise that, although this is a WIP, it will be finished. 
> 
> Also, this is unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

Sid pushed the wine back at Geno. “ _You_ hold the bottle. And stop fidgeting. Your tie is fine.”

“I’m nervous,” Geno said, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s big deal. These people your friends plus very rich.”

Sid took a moment to look around— the house _was_ huge, brick and natural siding, and the property was surrounded by a gated fence. And maybe the four-car garage didn’t help. 

“Geno, they’re just really nice people. I’ve known them since I came here. Nathalie is really kind and the kids will make you—” 

“Sidney! Joyeux Noël!” Mario said, opening the door. He hugged Sid and then stepped back. “You must be Geno. Welcome! Come in!”

Mario shook Geno’s hand; Geno was too shocked to speak. He tried, but no words came out. 

Sid laughed and pried Geno’s hand out of Mario’s. “Geno, this is Mario. Give him the wine. Can we go inside now? It’s freakin’ cold out here.”

The kids, no longer children but young adults in their 20s, swamped Sid with hugs and bright chatter. All at the same time, they caught him up on their news. With a silent prayer of thanks, Sid was glad they hadn’t seen Geno yet.

“Magniogorsk?” Mario asked. “Metallurg is a hell of a team.”

From the middle of the huddle, Sid watched Geno relax as he answered Mario. Sid knew the feeling; Geno was no longer speaking to _Le Magnifique_ but to another hockey guy passionate about the sport. Something in his chest expands and swirls, pleased that Mario seems like Geno and that Geno seems to like Mario. Hurdle one. Just two more, with Nathalie and then the kids.

Natalie stepped into the foyer and took charge. “Austin and Alexa, please finish setting the table. Lauren and Stephanie, please pour the wine. Mario, please don’t monopolize our guest.” As she hugged Sid, she whispered, “Oh, he’s handsome!”

Sid blushed as he nodded against her cheek. Geno was the first person he’d brought to meet them. It felt monumental, significant, and his heart raced as he thought about what that meant. He hugged her tight and let her go.

“Geno! Don’t let Mario monopolize you with his hockey talk.” Nathalie drew Geno away from Mario and led him into the formal living room. Geno laughed, but Nathalie said, “Seriously, he will talk your ear off.”

Mario stopped Sid before he could follow. “He seems like a good man.” 

Sid couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat; Mario and Nathalie’s approval and acceptance meant more to Sid than even his parents’. “I know I haven’t known him a long time—”

Mario squeezed Sid’s shoulder. “Sometimes, you just know.”

Sid couldn’t argue with that. 

~*~

Nathalie had placed Sid next to Geno at the dining room table, and Sid was grateful for her thoughtful insight. Although Geno seemed calm as he chatted with the kids, Sid felt Geno nervously bouncing his knee under the table. 

As Mario and Nathalie sat down, Sid slid his right hand onto Geno’s thigh, letting it rest there with a gentle pressure. As he listened to Lauren and her husband talk about their upcoming first anniversary vacation, Geno slowed his leg until the bouncing stopped. 

Sid kind of loved Geno’s smile, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t because of the description of a resort in the Bahamas. Sid tried to withdraw his hand, but Geno slipped his hand under the table and laid it atop Sid’s. 

Well. 

When Geno leaned forward to ask a question, his thigh muscles shifted and stretched under Sid’s palm. Sid exhaled slowly, wanting to feel it again, wanting to feel Geno under him, moving alone and moving together. 

He took his hand off Geno’s thigh. His brain was spinning out such gorgeous little movies that he didn’t really need any further input. As it was, Sid wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand without embarrassing himself. To derail his traitorous brain with its X-rated photos, Sid focused on Austin talking about ASU and the hockey team. Because he couldn’t listen to Lauren talk about sunbathing without imagining Geno in Speedos, slick with suntan oil. 

Thankfully, Nathalie served the main course, and Mario asked Geno a question about the museum. For the remainder of dinner and well into dessert, Geno charmed the Lemieuxes with outrageous stories of life in Russia and patrons of the museum. Even when the kids yelled at him to stop exaggerating, Geno kept a straight face and insisted they were the truth.

When Lauren and her husband stood to leave, Sid took that as their cue. “Thanks again for a great night,” he said, kissing Nathalie’s cheek. “For everything.” 

“Anytime, Sidney,” Nathalie said, cupping his cheek. “We’re your family.”   
Calling good-byes over their shoulders, Sid and Geno followed the sidewalk to the driveway. They walked in silence, the crunch of the new layer of snow almost echoing in the darkness. 

To Sid, the silence was overwhelming because of what he _wasn’t_ saying. He wanted to invite Geno back to his home, show him the skating rink, and the luxury media room, and the king-sized bed in the master bedroom which had been crafted to his specifications. To fuck and be fucked, and then share the custom master shower, with its natural light and waterfall shower heads along the walls. 

But it had been 48 hours. Maybe he was reading Geno wrong, but he didn’t think so. 

The question was, could he trust Geno with his secret? With his privacy? With everything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm imagining Sid's shower is a combination of: and this which links and indoor shower with an outdoor shower: ABSOLUTELY heated for the PGH winters. Or maybe, he also has a sauna in the bathroom. I feel like, although he rarely treats himself, this would be something he could justify for post work-out or post game relaxation.


	8. Sex in Sewickley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to earn the rating. It's what the chapter's titled: Sex in Sewickley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave up on the chapter titles from the song. lol. I'm just so thankful to Leslie Odom, Jr for recording [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvasjZNMKIo), which is responsible for this sex.

They sat in the Tahoe (still in Mario’s driveway), listening to Christmas music while the car warmed up. Geno stared out the side window, watching the snow fall gently. Sid gripped the steering wheel, gathering his courage. If he looked over his left shoulder, he could see his house. It was right there. He could ask Geno—

“Glad you drive, Sid,” Geno said, turning to him. “I’m have too much wine tonight.” 

_Oh. **Oh!**_

“Yeah,” Sid agreed, his heart racing. “And the snow. It’s a bad combination.” He swallowed and plunged forward. “My house is pretty close. We could—I mean, if you wanted—You could spend the night.” His dick, half-hard all evening from the multiple times they “accidentally” touched, swelled at the prospect of Geno in his home, maybe naked. In Sid’s bed.

Geno didn’t respond. 

“You don’t have to,” Sid stumbled over his words, assuming Geno’s silence meant that Sid had read every interaction, every touch wrong. “Um, the Tahoe has four-wheel drive and snow tires, so, yeah, I’ll just—” Sid pulled his phone from inside his suit jacket pocket, hoping he could mask the disappointment. _Media voice,_ he thought automatically. “Just give me your address and—” 

Geno laid his hand on Sid’s thigh. “I’m want to go to your home,” he said, his voice deep and thick with what Sid prayed wasn’t from a cold. Or being tired. Or—

“Good. Yeah. Uh—” Sid said as he backed the car out of the driveway. The thing was, Geno had left his hand on Sid’s thigh, and unless he was imagining it, Geno’s fingers had dipped further between Sid’s legs. 

Thank God he only had to drive a few seconds. If he’d had to drive Geno back into the city like this…

As he drove the Tahoe up to his house, Sid opened the window to enter the gate code. Geno leaned closer. His fingers drifted between Sid’s legs, trailing lightly enough over his balls that Sid knew he could write it off as an accident if he weren’t interested. 

Or he _would’ve_ known. But Geno’s touch seared his brain, leaving him with the word _Yes._ Sid begged himself not to strip Geno right there in the car. His dick, pressed uncomfortably against his pants as he parked the car in the garage. 

Sid gathered enough brain to close the garage door and get out of the car. Geno still hadn’t said anything and to Sid, his silence felt powerful, sensual, like unspoken promise of something primitive. “This is—uh—it. My house. Home.”

A small voice in Sid’s mind, one that had been trained for 25 years to shield himself from the public, whispered, _Don’t. Could be dangerous. Your secret. Non-disclosure agreement. **Don’t.**_ Sid held the door open for Geno and searched for a reason to send him home. Instead, with Geno here in his home, Sid felt overwhelmed with the sense of security, that this was right. Better than right. This was _good._

Geno turned to Sid, moved close enough that Sid could smell the lavender and balsam of his cologne. “Thank you for invite me in. Want to say I’m never tell.” He reached around Sid and shut the door. He kept his hand in place and brought his right hand up, backing Sid against the door. 

“I’m bad,” Geno said, his lips caressing Sid’s ear, and Sid’s entire existence narrowed to this: Geno’s breath warm and sweet, Geno wanting him. “I’m lie to you. I’m only have one glass wine.” He crowded Sid, still not pressing against him, and said, “I’m want to be with you, but not want to ask, because maybe you think I’m like you because you famous. So I’m wait for you to say.”

The voice in Sid’s head whispered, _Oops. Sorry!_

Geno’s mouth lingered over Sid’s. “Want you because you beautiful and very hot.” He traced Sid’s bottom lip with his thumb, and Sid was gone. 

He had no breath to respond, and even if he did, he didn’t think Geno could hear him over the pounding of his heart beating out a _kiss me_ rhythm. Instead of speaking, Sid kissed him. He tasted a little like wine and a lot like chocolate cake, and Sid would never eat it again without thinking of Geno and this kiss. 

Geno kissed him, kissed Sid’s cheek, scraping his lips down Sid’s neck rough with stubble, before nipping his way back to his mouth. Sid trembled, weak from shuddered breaths. 

Geno’s lips hovered over Sid’s. “Want you.” 

Oh, God. Geno’s words slipped inside Sidney, wrapped around his heart, cradled it with their softness, knowing it was fragile and afraid. That Sid was fragile and afraid.

“Come with me?” Sid asked, barely taking his lips away from Geno’s. 

Geno nodded, and Sid led him up the stairs to his bedroom. Each time they stopped to kiss, they lost another piece of clothing. Geno’s red bowtie. Sid’s suit jacket. Another tie. Two shirts. A belt.

“Most beautiful, Sid.” Geno dragged his thumb down Sid’s abdominal muscles, stopping at Sid’s waist.  
Sid was freefalling, diving through miles through the frigid air with no harness and no safety net except the knowledge that Geno wouldn’t hurt him. The fabric waistband dipped from the pressure of Geno’s thumb, and Sid whispered, “Please.”

Geno buried his face in Sid’s neck as he fumbled with the zipper. Sid was torn between wanting his pants fucking gone and not wanting Geno to stop sucking that spot on his neck where it meets his shoulder. Instead, Sid nudged Geno’s hands away and unzipped his fly, pushing his boxer-briefs off with his pants. 

“Shit,” Sid leaned back, laughing too hard to let Geno still kiss him. “My shoes are still on.” He looked down, his expensive, tailored pants tangled around his ankles. 

Geno dropped to his knees and slowly untied the laces. He brushed the top of his head gently against Sid’s hard cock. “Geno,” Sid gasped.

“Zhenya.” He looked up at Sid and repeated it. “Zhenynechka what you call me. Is lover’s name.”

Sid wanted to tug Geno up from the floor and kiss him until they were both breathless, to use his body to explain what Geno’s words meant to him. Geno wouldn’t stand. He wrapped his fist around Sid’s cock and his mouth lingered near the tip. “Let me,” Geno asked.

Sid wanted to bury his fists in Geno’s hair, pull him forward until Sid’s dick was touching the back of Geno’s throat. “Fuck yeah,” he thought. Maybe he’d said it. He was pure, raw feeling, doing instead of thinking.

Geno formed a tight **O** with his lips and Sid pushed inch by inch into Geno’s mouth. He tried to hold still, to not fuck Geno’s his face, but once Geno brought Sid’s hands to the top of his head, once Geno squeezed Sid’s ass and drew him closer, Sidney gave in. 

He rolled his hips, each time hitting the back of Geno’s throat, until he felt his orgasm ready to spiral, to spin out. “Zhenynechka, I’m gonna—you should—” 

Geno squeezed his ass harder, held him in place as swallowed as Sid came. When Sid pulled out of his mouth, Geno rested his forehead on Sid’s hip.

“Oh, Jesus,” Sid breathed out, loosening his grip on Geno’s hair. “Fuck. Gimme a second—”

But Geno unzipped his fly and fucked his own fist, coming quickly. Sid couldn’t see, could only imagine what Geno’s dick would look like in his huge hand. But Geno’s tiny, cut off moans—they were so fucking hot, that Sid wanted to take him to bed and do it all again. 

“Jesus, Zhenynechka.” Sid held his hand out to Geno, pulled him up and kissed him before taking him to bed. 

Sid didn’t think they’d sleep much that night. He wanted to touch every bit of Geno, make him come again, maybe with his hands, maybe with his mouth. Probably both.

After all. Sid didn’t have anywhere to be until the team left for Columbus on Wednesday. 

That left him more than 24 hours to be with Zhenynechka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian nicknames are difficult. Zhenya's diminutive may or may not be Zhenynechka. But for today, it is.


	9. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geno has a great idea for their day off: bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they were supposed to go to the zoo to see the real Pittsburgh penguins. But then Geno had his own ideas, irrespective of what *I* wanted. 
> 
> again, this is unbeta'd. I'm totally responsible for these shenanigans.

Sid woke slowly, his feet tangled in the sheets that he’d kicked to the bottom of his bed. At some point in the night, Geno had wrapped himself around Sid, and with his body heat, they hadn’t needed the blankets. 

That and, well, the linens had gotten in the way. 

Sid laughed quietly, not wanting to wake Geno, but he was happy. And instead of waking up with his mind jumping into high gear and working on a list of things to do, Sid lay in bed and felt contented, draped with Geno.

Zhenya. _Zhenynechka._

“Why you so happy. Too awake,” Geno mumbled into Sid’s shoulder, his voice still raspy from sleep. “I not wear you out?”

Sid grinned and snuggled into Geno, rubbing his ass against Geno’s thighs. “I have this idea of something we could do today.”

Geno’s hand drifted down Sid’s body to his cock, naked and hard, and he cupped it. “Me, too, _Sidneyenka.”_

Sid rolled to his other side to face Geno. “What’s that name?”

Geno kissed Sid’s temple. “Like Zhenushka. Is lover’s name. Or can call you Vasilii. Russian for Sidney.” 

Sid shook his head and laced their fingers together. “No. I like Sidneyenka.” 

“Want to hear my idea for today?” Geno slid his fingers from Sidney’s and inched his finger up Sid’s thigh, to his balls, lingering there. 

“Oh, God, I can’t. Not now, anyway.” Sid laughed and shoved Geno’s hand away. “That’s just pee hard.” Some, anyway.

Geno hrumpfed in pretend frustration. “Then what you idea?”

“Let’s go to the zoo.” Sid sat up in the bed. Geno laughed, and Sid liked that _he’d_ made Geno smile, that the soft affection in his eyes was only for Sid. “The penguins have a parade every day.”

“Is freezing out there, and bed is warm,” Geno wheedled. He grabbed at Sid’s hips, but Sid wriggled away. “I’m not have clothes.”

Sid knew Geno was watching him walk naked to the master bathroom—mostly because of the filthy comments Geno was making about his ass. “Why you kill me like this? I am most nice to you.” Sid heard Geno laughing through the closed door as he peed and washed his hands. 

“C’mon. The zoo is already open, and we don’t want to miss the penguin parade.” Sid dried his hands on the towel, and when he turned to leave the bathroom, Geno was standing naked at the doorway.

Jesus, he was devastating. Broad shoulders with thick arms that had easily flipped him last night so Geno was flat against the mattress. Long, strong legs that had wrapped around Sid’s waist and pulled him in deeper. And the off-kilter smile he’d given so gently as he said Sid’s name right before he’d fallen asleep.

“Penguins always be at zoo,” Geno said, bringing his hand up to cradle Sid’s face. Sid closed his eyes and leaned into Geno’s touch. “But this our only ever first time together.” 

Something flared in Sid’s chest, blazed like the first touch of a match to a sparkler. Sid wanted this to be the beginning of a relationship. He wanted a home and a husband, someone to share his Stanley Cups and his losses. He wanted to look back at the Christmas of 2017 and say, ‘This is how Daddy and I met.’ And he knew now that Zhenya wanted the same. 

Sid curled his hand behind Geno’s neck and pulled him closer. “You’re so damn smart.” _Need_ and _want_ burned through his words, and when he kissed Geno, it was deep and heated, white hot.

Geno breathed in short gasps, whimpering each time Sid brushed his hand close to Geno’s hard cock but deliberately didn’t touch it. “Jesus. Please. _Please._ He grasped Sid’s wrist and brought it to his dick. Geno held it in place as he thrust up into it, but it was the wrong angle.

Geno pushed Sid flat onto the bed and followed him; he straddled Sid and leaned back so that Sid’s erection pressed against the cleft between Geno’s cheeks. 

Each time Geno rolled his hips, Sid moaned. “Want to be in you,” Sid said, his fingers laced with Geno’s. “Want you so bad.”

Geno leaned over to the nightstand for a condom and the lube that they hadn’t bothered to close the night before. Sid watched him rip open the condom packet and roll it onto Sid’s cock. “Next time, I’m use my mouth to do that,” he said, squeezing lube onto Sid’s fingers and guiding them behind his balls. 

Sid teased Geno’s hole before sliding his fingers inside, and as cliché as it was, he felt like he belonged there. That if the world outside his house didn’t exist, if hockey didn’t exist, that would be all right as long as he had Geno with him. 

Sid pressed his fingers further in and curved them just to hear Geno beg him to keep going. He tried to sit up to kiss Geno, but Geno pushed him back to the mattress. “Just want you to fuck me again. You good. So good,” he said as he lined up Sid’s cock and eased himself down until Sid could feel Geno’s ass against his balls.

Sid waited for Geno to let him know it was alright to move; until then, Sid memorized the feeling of being inside him, the heat from their bodies making him harder still. He could feel his orgasm beginning and evolving, the electricity crackling in his body that would flare as he moved with Geno. 

Sid wanted to go slowly, to make this last as long as he could, but Geno was still open from the last time they fucked; the intimacy of being inside Geno, the heat of his body surrounding Sid’s dick, the garbled mix of English and Russian words Geno cried out when Sid shifted and brushed Geno’s prostate—Sid couldn’t _not_ chase their orgasms. 

Sid grabbed Geno’s ass and bounced him up and down on Sid’s cock; he was so close, so close, but wanted to know what it would feel like if Geno came while side was inside him. “Touch yourself,” Sid said, barely recognizing his own voice that was both tender and. “I want to see you come.” He patted the bed, searching for the lube. Geno held out his hand, and Sid squeezed lube into his palm. 

Geno’s erection (which had flagged as Sid pushed into him) responded to his slick fingers as he wrapped them around his cock and dragged his hand up then down. Sid lay still afraid to move, because watching Geno jerk off was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen, and if Sid moved, it would be over.

And he didn’t want that. Not yet. 

Sidney wanted this. To be surrounded by Geno, not just physically, but by the waves of pleasure and delight that he sensed from Geno. To be pinned in place by him, to give up control for a few moments or hours. And when Geno dropped his head back and gasped as he twisted his wrist. When Geno’s muscles tightened around Sid’s cock and he came, covering his fist and mumbling Russian words that sound like love and contentment.

This. 

Every minute of every day. 

Sid grasped Geno’s hips and held him in place as he fucked into Geno. This room, this bed. This connection from one to the other. That was the world that mattered to Sid as he thrust one final time. 

He pulled Geno to him, held him until their breathing evened out and Sid felt the sweat cooling on their bodies. Geno rolled off Sid onto the mattress next to him, his eyes still scrunched closed. “Better idea than cold zoo.”

Sid nodded and laced his right hand with Geno’s left. “Anything’s a good idea if I’m with you.” _Aw, jeez, that was so fucking corny,_ Sid thought, cringing.

Geno rolled onto his side and faced Sid. “You say most beautiful things.” He kissed Sid’s temple. “I’m clean us up, then we go back to sleep.”

Sid meant to complain. Today was his last full day off before he got back into the swing of the season, and he’d intended to _do_ things. The zoo. Or some road training. Or at least grocery shopping. But suddenly, lying in bed next to Geno, soaking up his warmth and mapping his body sounded much better. Sid was unwound, calm, in a way he hadn’t been in maybe forever. 

He closed his eyes, lulled by the running water and the hum of the bathroom vent. Sid barely registered the warm cloth that Geno used to clean his stomach and fingers. The last thing he remembered was the dip of the mattress behind him, and Geno behind him, kissing his hair and neck.

“Zhenya, is it possible to be in love after three days?” Sid mumbled against his pillow. Or maybe he dreamed it. He wasn’t sure. 

But he _was_ certain that Geno pulled him even closer before they fell asleep til afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your patience with this. I have a couple kids who've required dr appts these past few weeks. It's been crazy. We did learn that (a) one should not Irish dance on high heels (b) former best friends can be dickwipes (c) stomachs empty at their own pace. What can you do except roll with it.


	10. Goodbye Is the Hardest Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas break is over and the Pens are on the road. But Sid has a plan for New Year's Eve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost done. Thank you for hanging with me :D

Sid woke ahead of the alarm. He stretched, feeling contented and lazy, and his fingers caressed Geno’s cheek. Geno being in his bed felt his house was finally a home. Like Geno’s clothes belonged strewn all over the bedroom where they’d been tossed in desperation. 

There it was again, the flaring sparkler in his chest, the surge of emotion that felt dangerously close to love.

Rather than think about it, Sid slid out of bed, careful not to jostle the mattress and wake Geno. He ran the shower as he shaved, silently arguing with himself over skipping morning skate. After four days off, Sid couldn’t skip it, no matter how much he would prefer to stay in bed and spend the day as they had the day before—napping on and off, indulging in food that wasn’t on anyone’s food plan, and mostly, learning Geno’s body. 

_Hockey came first and everything else was a distant second._ But Sid grinned, because Geno was closer to first than anyone else had ever been.

Fully dressed, his hair still wet from the shower, Sid sat next to Geno on the bed. He lightly stroked Geno’s hair, winding a curl around his finger. Geno’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled at Sid.

“Morning,” Geno said, reaching out to touch Sid’s tie. “Look so good just for me?”

Sid frowned and shook his head. “I have to go to the arena. We have a game tonight.” He laced his fingers with Geno’s. “Want to come? I can leave you a ticket?”

Geno rolled onto his side and propped his head on his palm. “Want to, but no.”

Sid felt wrong-footed. He wasn’t always the best at social cues, but he’d been pretty sure he and Geno had been on the same page. He must have looked hurt, because Geno squeezed his hand.

“I’m think you don’t understand me.” Geno released Sid’s hand so he could tip Sid’s chin up to look in his eyes. “Very busy at work til Sunday night. New Year’s Eve is big time for museum.”

Sid exhaled as tension that had crept into his neck and shoulders drained out. 

Geno sat up, not bothering to pull the sheet over his lap. “I’m know you celebrity, Sid, and people try to take advantage. But that is not me. I’m like _Sidney,_ who made me box mac and cheese and make me watch bad wedding TV shows. The guy who giggle when I’m do this.” Geno pressed his mouth against Sid’s neck and blew a raspberry, wet and loud. 

Sid laughed and wiped his neck. “I like you, too.”  
“I’m know,” Geno said and continued before Sid could feel embarrassed. “I’m not do casual. No booty calls.” He wiggled his ass against the mattress, and Sid laughed again. “Well, booty calls okay.”

“Whew!” Sid joked, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Because my booty—”

“Is obscene, Sid. Illegal. Police gonna arrest it for starting riots.” Geno grinned and leaned in to kiss Sid. “I’m text you for pictures.”

“I’m not sending you pictures of my ass,” Sid squawked. 

“I’m understand. It too big for phone camera.” 

Sid’s phone pinged with a text message. “Tanger’s waiting for me at the arena. I have to go.” He kissed Geno gently. 

“I’m send you pictures of museum party and tell you about my cooking for New Year’s party.”

Sid quickly scrolled through his calendar. “Shit. We have an away game. Is the party at midnight?”

“Midnight in Moscow, but only 4 in afternoon here. So kids can come, too. We count down, throw confetti.”

Sid slumped against Geno. “Fuck. If it were 12 here—” 

Geno cupped Sid’s face, and his touch calmed Sid. “I’m think—hope—we have many New Year’s Eves together.” Eyes closed, Sid nodded. “Museum closed New Year’s Day. You come to my apartment. Watch football and eat my food. If you tell me I’m good cook, maybe I give you kisses.”

Sid’s phone pinged again with several messages in quick succession. “I’ve gotta go.” He kissed Geno’s palms and grabbed his garment bag. “Sure you don’t want to come tonight?”

“I’m not want to cause problem,” Geno said. Sid began to argue, but Geno stopped him. “Yes, when wives and girlfriends see me, they jealous because I’m cuter. Big, ugly scene. So bad.”

Geno belly laughed, and Sid had no words and didn’t try. He threw a pillow at Geno, hitting him directly in the face. “I’m out of here,” he said. “I’ll text you the code to lock the house.”

He’d never wanted to give the code out before.   
~*~

They took the Blue Jackets to a shootout, and fuck if that win didn’t feel as amazing as the playoffs. Sid scored one of the two goals in the shootout, and as he celebrated, he hoped Geno was watching the game on TV to see him point to the DiamondVision. _That was for you, Zhenya._

From way Geno’d blown up Sid’s phone, he’d known.

Sid hoped the CBJ win had been the turning point they’d been waiting for, but they lost a shit game in Carolina. They couldn’t get anywhere near the net after the first period, and it wasn’t like Jarry had let in a bunch. For fuck’s sake, they should able to score more than 2.

Sid texted Geno exactly that on the team bus to the airport. **If I were a better captain, maybe we’d win more. I gotta go. Plane’s getting ready to take off.**

**_goals will come team will gel just like two years ago_ **

Sid sighed. Maybe Geno was right. They did it in 2016. **Promise?**

**_i’m bet my secret vareniki recipe i’m lose, give you recipe._ **

Sid carefully picked out a rolling-eyes emoji and hit send. Like he even knew what Vareniki was, but at least he was smiling now.

It was bitterly cold in Detroit when they’d landed; Carolina hadn’t been balmy, but 36 degrees was fucking better than 17, because it felt like below zero. Sid wanted to get to the hotel, crank the heat, get into bed and text Geno. But he was more worn out than he’d realized, and between the delicious warmth in his room and the exhaustion, Sid fell asleep before he even opened the app.

The next morning, Sid understood the appeal of smart phones. With cameras. 

Before he’d gone to sleep, Geno had texted him a series of photos. Lying in bed, shirtless and smiling just for Sid. Eyelids heavy and the side of his bottom lip pulled between his teeth—how he’d looked when Sid had kissed slowly down his chest, had nosed at Geno’s hard nipple before scraping his teeth lightly over it.

Sid bit back a whimper. _Geno._ He slid his hand under the sheet to the growing bulge in his boxer-briefs. 

The next picture was Geno’s hand flat on his belly, one finger tucked into his briefs. _Jesus Christ._ Sid wanted Geno so fucking much, wanted that to be his hand edging under the waist band. He didn’t bother to suppress the shudder of desire he felt from that photo and the next, a box of tissues on the bed. **_miss you so much,_** Geno had sent. 

Christ, Geno was so fucking amazing. He’d known not to send something explicit, which was even fucking hotter. Sid laid the phone on the bed. He swallowed hard and curved his fingers over his cock. The cotton fabric felt rough against the sensitive skin, adding to the intensity of the pressure. As he caressed himself, Sid closed his eyes and replayed scenes from the weekend. The spread of Zhenya’s warm hands on Sid’s body, sucking a bruise on his shoulder, holding him tight as he came against Geno’s stomach. 

The memories were vivid, the aroma of Geno’s cologne and shampoo and the musky scent of them after sex. Sid came with just a few strokes, much too quickly, but Geno did that to him. 

He stripped off his briefs and cleaned his hands on them. He missed Geno so damn much. If only—Sid grabbed his phone from the pillow and opened Google.

Another thing smart phones were good for: making reservations.


	11. For Days of Auld Lang Syne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid's plan is to be with Geno by midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and hanging with me through the chapters. It's New Year's Eve and the boys are together. Nothing else matters. 
> 
> In some fics, Geno makes pelmeni. I chose the word Vareniki, from my research about Russian New Year's celebrations.
> 
> Some general handwaving:  
> Of course, Trevor Daley would help Sid. Once a Pen, always a Pen. And let's assume Catherine left Alex home with a nanny.  
> And while we're at it, let's just pretend Sid would get home faster with a private jet than waiting for the team's flight.

Flight time from Detroit to Pittsburgh? Less than one hour.

Hire a private jet? Detroit to Allegheny County airport before midnight.

Being with Geno at midnight? Priceless.

Sid didn’t tell Geno. There was always the possibility that he wouldn’t be on time, or it wouldn’t work out at all. The plane could be snowed in, or the runway could be too icy. Hell, Sid could be snowed in. Not telling him would at least keep him from worrying. 

Plus, seeing Geno’s face would be worth all of it. The shock when he opened the door. He’d probably pull Geno into a giant hug, and Sid would kiss him, and they might not get past the living room before they were naked.

Sid stared at his phone. He still needed to respond to Geno’s photos. He took a few selfies, but he knew he looked ridiculous with his lopsided grin and stupid, big lips. Instead, Sid took a risk. 

**I am going to fucking take you apart when I see you.**

Sid tapped _send_ and started his day.

~*~

 

Throughout the day,Geno texted Sid random pictures of things he was doing.

**_came for breakfast they ask if you coming back when you in town. I’m think they my friends, but like you better!_ **

**_meet kitty on the street. At least she like me better_ **

**_geoffrey says hi_ **

**_not go to deli for lunch feelings still hurt_ **

Sid laughed out loud in the locker room after morning skate when he got that one. The guys stared at him, and Tanger grabbed his elbow. “Catherine says I have to talk to you. What does she know that you didn’t tell _me?”_

Sid grinned widely at Tanger but didn’t answer; instead, he dropped his phone into his gear bag and headed for the showers. _Shit!_ Sid doubled back quickly and snatched his phone out of Tanger’s hands. 

Ignoring the rapid Québécois cursing, Sid held his phone so Tanger couldn’t see and texted **I miss you** before locking his phone. 

“Guard this with your life and don’t let Letang get it.” Sid locked his gaze with Jake’s and slapped the phone into his palm. Jake held the phone as if it were precious and fragile. “I’m not kidding, Jake,” Sid said as Tanger approached. “Otherwise, bag skate. A lot of bag skate.”

Tanger laughed, but Jake looked pinched and white, like he might crap himself. “Not kidding,” Sid called over his shoulder before he disappeared into the shower room. Hopefully, Jake was rookie enough to still fear him. 

When Sid returned from the shower, Jake was standing in the same spot. Sid held his hand out for his phone, and Jake stuck his hand into the back of his compression shorts and withdrew it, sweaty but safe. 

“The fuck?” Sid asked, but Jake just shrugged with wide eyes. It was probably the only place the kid could hide it without Tanger going after it. When he got back to his gear bag, Sid used three separate alcohol wipes to clean it before putting the phone in his pocket. 

~*~

He’d chartered the light jet for the 45-minute flight. He’d arranged with Catherine to pick him up at the municipal airport and drive him downtown before she picked up Tanger who’d fly with the team. But without Sully’s word, none of it was happening. Being captain had certain privileges but with the way he was playing, Sid wasn’t sure Sully would agree to anything. 

Before the pregame meal at the hotel, Sid pulled Sully aside. He cleared his throat and tried to ignore the concern swirling in his belly. Sully could scuttle this plan with one word, and Sid’d have to wait til tomorrow to see Geno. “Something’s come up I need to take care of. I’ll meet you for the plane to Philadelphia on Tuesday.”  
Sid dragged his fingers through his hair as he waited for pushback from Sully. “Everything okay?” Sully asked. When Sid nodded, Sully added, “I’m guessing you don’t, but if you want to talk—” 

With a “Thanks,” Sid returned to his table and spent dinner listening to Tanger berate Jake for not searching Sid’s phone when he had the chance. Sid kept silent, enjoying everyone’s banter, even if it were at his expense. At least they were acting like a team.

~*~

Which was more than Sid could say for the actual game. 

They scored one goal against Detroit, and it was worse than it sounded. The game was bad. Well, not bad, but definitely not good. Sid felt like they were one or two lucky breaks away from having everything fall into place. Plus, even though they weren’t in a playoff spot, they were only a handful of points out, and there was a lot of hockey left to play. 

Sid showered and left before the media scrum. He met Dales in a hallway leading to the RedWings’ players’ parking lot. “Thanks for agreeing, man. It means a lot to me.”

Dales tried prying, but Sid wouldn’t give up any information. He smiled and watched other cars pass. 

“Just because I’m not a Pen anymore doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on. Tanger says you’ve been suspiciously happy.” Dales waited, and Sid assumed he was meant to crack. “You even shared your peanut butter cups with Tanger on the plane. What gives?” Trevor asked. 

Sit smiled and shook his head.

“Y’know, Catherine is going to find out and tell Tanger, then he’s gonna tell me. Might as well cut out the middle man—” 

“There’s someone I want to spend New Year’s Eve with,” Sid said as Dales pulled up to the hanger. Sid got out of the car, and Dales stopped him before he could close the door. 

“You don’t ever go out on New Year’s Eve. They must be pretty special.”

Sid’s grin turned soft. “They are special. And I’m not going out; I’m definitely staying in.” Sid winked and slammed the door shut. He didn’t turn around when Dales yelled questions out the open car window.

~*~

They landed at Allegheny County airport ahead of schedule, thanks to “excellent flight conditions.” Sid thought it might have more to do with the generous tip he tendered before they took off. And the beauty of a private flight was walking out of the plane and into Catherine’s car. 

_Her_ questions he answered. And contrary to what Daley had said, he knew Catherine would never tell her husband unless Sid gave his permission. He told her about Geno and the museum. Their date and the New Year’s Eve party that ended at 4 that afternoon (which was midnight in Moscow). 

When it was safe, he showed her pictures that Geno had sent of the party. Geno dressed up as Ded Moroz. A bottle of Soviet Champagne. A video screen showing Putin’s midnight speech to his nation and people. Children waving sparklers in the bright afternoon, making their midnight wish. 

Catherine interrupted his slide show. “Sidney, I need Geno’s address for directions.”

Sid’s finger hovered over the photo on his phone. “I—I don’t know it. Shit. I don’t know where he lives. How am I gonna find it?”

Catherine laughed at Sid, who was immobilized by indecision. “Just ask him.”

Sid talk-to-texted the most convincing message he could come up with. **Hey, what’s your address? I want to send you a post card from Detroit**

Catherine laughed harder. “A post card?”

“Shut up. It worked,” Sid said, looking at the three dots before Geno responded. 

**_a post card??_ **

Sid shook his head and mumbled something about being surrounded by assholes. He programmed Geno’s address in and recognized the area. It was close to the museum. 

He texted Geno as Catherine drove at what Sid was certain was over the speed limit. 

**_making vareniki for midnight have some frozen already for you_**

Geno sent a picture of his hand in the dough, flour on his wrist and up his arm. 

**You look good enough to eat,** Sid answered. His heart raced, knowing in a few minutes he’d be there, with Geno.

Catherine pulled up to a modern high-rise apartment building. The glass-enclosed lobby was filled with people dancing and drinking. The exterior courtyard had been turned into an impromptu viewing area for the midnight fireworks over the city. Sid pecked her cheek. “I owe you.”

“Just let me know when I can tell Kris,” Catherine said, squeezing his shoulder. “Go. Don’t be late!”

Sid grabbed his bag, pulled his baseball cap low over his forehead, and dodged the lawn chairs in the courtyard. He lost count of how many people offered him champagne or food as he wove through the lobby to the elevators. He leaned against the wall as he waited for next elevator to arrive.

**_you not answer? I’m make you jealous with food_ **

If Zhenya only knew. Sid giggled, a little too long and loud, but he hadn’t been this excited and nervous since he’d stood at center ice, holding the Cup over his head. 

**Sad to be by myself** Sid texted and giggled again as the elevator opened. People streamed out of the car, and Sid was the only person heading up. He checked his watch. 

11:55pm.

Sid willed the elevator to go faster; thank God, Geno only lived on the seventh floor. He found apartment 7-1, tucked into the inset at the hallway’s end. He dropped his gear bag and checked the time.

11:58pm.

Sid rang the doorbell, and Geoffrey responded with an unearthly howl. Sid cringed at the noise, but at least most people were awake, right?

Apparently not Geno’s neighbor, whom Sid heard yelling louder than the French Mastiff had been. “Geno, I told you ‘bout that dog already—”

Through the door, he heard Geno yelling at Geoffrey to shush. “Sorry, Mrs. K. Geoffrey sorry too. I’m bring you treat tomorrow to say sorry.”

“It better be your pierogis! Why do you have company at midnight, anyway?”

Sid heard the crowd outside begin to count down as the door opened.

It took a moment for Geno to register that Sid was in front of him. His face shifted from confusion through shock to joy. “Sid,” he whispered. “You here.”

Fireworks crackled and boomed, signaling midnight. Sid pushed Geno into the apartment and kissed Geno. Not hungry and heated—there would be time for that later. This kiss was _hi, hello, I missed you, I don’t want to be apart from you again. ___

__Dixie slinked around their ankles, cutting figure eights until Sidney agreed to pet her._ _

__Geno’s hands were still coated with flour and dough. “Come,” he said, and Sid followed him through the living room to the kitchen. Vareniki were bobbing at the top of boiling water, and Geno scooped them out and into a bowl._ _

__“I’m freeze the rest. Cook them later,” Geno said, stuffing the raw Vareniki into a ziplock bag. He put them in the freezer and leaned against the refrigerator. “Still can’t believe you here.”_ _

__“Happy New Year,” Sid said. He kissed Geno again before pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “Как встретишь Новый Год, так его и проведёшь,” Sid said, pronouncing each word carefully. He knew his accent was dreadful, but he hoped Geno would be able to understand some of it._ _

__No one had ever looked at Sid the way Geno did at that moment. It was like Sid was a treasure, a gift. Or maybe Sid had just gotten the words wrong._ _

__“I asked Gonch what to say. He told me that his family says this,” Sid apologized. He said it means—”_ _

__Geno found his voice. “The way you spend New Year’s Eve is the way you will spend the rest of the year.”_ _

__“So, I wanted to be with you,” Sid said, suddenly as shy as he’d been at boarding school. “Kind of all the time.”_ _

__Geno cupped Sid’s face. “Kind of all the time,” he agreed, and this kiss promised fire. Sid felt it in every molecule in his body, the heat, the need. How much he wanted Geno._ _

__Geno turned off the burner and took Sid’s hand. He led Sid through the apartment to his bedroom. Geno dropped Sid’s suit jacket to the floor and, as he pushed each shirt button through its hole, Geno kissed Sid’s exposed skin._ _

__It was incredibly sensual; Sid’s skin tingled each time Geno’s lips touched him._ _

__He caught a glance of himself in Geno’s mirror. Geno’s floured handprints dusted his cheeks, but Sid didn’t care. He’d clean his face later._ _

__Spending New Year’s Eve the way he meant to spend the rest of his year, with Geno and showing each other how they felt, was much more important now._ _

**Author's Note:**

> In theory, this fic runs from 12/24 through 1/6. You can see I'm already late :D


End file.
